"But on the way there, it’s good to remember that it’s okay for them to lose their bearings; in fact, those moments of disorientation, of realizing they don’t quite know where they are or how exactly they got there, are often the most intense, immersive, and revelatory. When we’re lost, our whole body responds; our pulse speeds up, our perceptions are heightened, and our minds are alert. At these moments, the story is no longer a passive experience but one in which we actively participate. We are trying to get around the trees in order to glimpse the horizon." Scott Nadelson, Lost in the Woods: the Transformative Possibilities of Disorientation, in Fiction Writers Review, Oct. 5, 2020.
Immersion
One of my favorite restaurants in Boston (well, Somerville) is Dali. My first visit there was as a college sophomore on the night of the 1996 Eliot House Fete (read: college prom). For this very special night, I was clad in a flowy royal blue gown and long, white opera gloves. Hair swept up, rhinestone earrings clipped on, and I was ready for a spring evening of dining and dancing with my handsome, tuxedoed date.
In those halcyon days before websites and online restaurant reviews, I wasn’t sure exactly what to expect of this restaurant that my date had selected for our enchanted evening. But as we walked through the heavy, dark-wood door, my jaw dropped. Swanky as we were, our attire paled next to the vivid colors and textures of Dali.
Every surface of the restaurant from floor to ceiling was encrusted with blues, reds, whites, greens, silvers, and golds, with flowers, ropes of garlic and herbs, legs of jamon serrano, Spanish tiles, bejeweled fish, reclining odalisques, strings of beads, and flickering candles.
Even before the barrage of tapas and rich, ice-cold sangria, Dali bombarded the senses.
gambas al ajillo scallops in saffron sauce patatas bravas tortilla espanola crushed chickpea spread sauteed meaty mushrooms marinated olives mushroom-filled artichokes mussels in white wine sauce grilled chorizo
Once we were seated, our debonair waiter presented the tapas one after the next, each one new to this small-town Texan who had never even tasted a bagel before her freshman year of college. I had read of these culinary riches in my Spanish courses over the years (which is why I wanted to try Dali), but words on the page had not prepared me for the strange tastes, textures, blends, colors, scents, and sounds of this experience. I was unsure how to pry a mussel out of a shell, how much to flirt with the waiter, whether you were supposed to eat the dried red pepper shimmering in the dish of garlic shrimp, and how much of the goes-down-smooth sangria I could safely drink (not as much as I hoped).
I felt out of my depth, like my Spanish wasn’t as good as and simultaneously much better than I thought, that things were beautiful and interesting and colorful and shocking, that I might embarrass myself by eating one of the dishes in the wrong way (like Gerald Ford in the Great Tamale Incident of 1976), that I wanted more - much more - of the tiny shrimp sizzling in garlic and to sop up every drop of the yellow saffron sauce that the scallops were swimming in, that so many of the words and symbols and imagery that decorated the place seemed familiar from my Spanish classes, that my date might think I wasn’t cultured or sophisticated enough, and that getting sangria on my gleaming white gloves would be a very bad idea.
I was lost, and deeply feeling every input that came at my senses. It was unsettling.
* * *
I felt alive.
MUSICAL INTERLUDE
Malaguena flamenco Palo Guitar. By Ahmadmusic from Pixabay.
Bombardment
On May 1st, I began my 18-week stint as a core researcher in the Summer of Protocols.
And I’m here to tell you that I am very much in the overwhelmed, disoriented, up-is-down, do-I-really-know-anything phase of my research.
I’m lost. Bombarded by ideas of all kinds.
And it is glorious.
In the last two weeks, I’ve learned and thought about:
the power inherent in designing a protocol (through the lenses of designing climate/carbon credits, the built environment, blockchains, AI);
layers of protocols and layering of protocols;
how to define a protocol and whether the 12 core researchers need to share a common definition of protocol in our research;
does a protocol require human intent or agency in its design, implementation, participation, or enforcement?
where does power lie in these activities?
what I mean when I talk about the “unconscious” participation in a protocol.
is this a psychology term I’m using?
should I be looking at research on transgenerational transmission of trauma or family dynamics?
am I just talking about ‘culture’ as defined in anthropology? is unconscious participation in a protocol just another way to express ‘culture’?
should I be looking at materials that can seem “squishy” like “finding yourself” and “awakening your consciousness” because that’s kind of what I’m talking about even if it sounds corny and not intellectual?
if I’m thinking about how to ‘kill’ a stale/zombie/harmful protocol that endures through unconscious participation and transmission, what should I be reading about?
looking at demise of religions (which I see as a protocol)?
should I look at death/collapse of governments?
is it too much in this research project to even think about how to kill a protocol, and enough to focus on the ‘unconscious’ element and ways to bring protocols into ‘consciousness’? And what the consequences are of bringing them into consciousness for people?
that my past work and thinking about blockchains and governance and stability and interactions between various layers of them will be useful for my work.
that my experience teaching Philosophy of Law will be very useful as well.
that the team of core researchers and the guides of the program are fascinating, helpful, stimulating, and brilliant, and how lucky I am to be a part of this program.
that maybe my work all along has been a mix of anthropology, sociology, economics, law, philosophy, and basically any subject that touches human behavior and it feels silly to be bound by disciplinary siloes in thinking about what I like to think about. (Which is humans.)
I’m enjoying the discomfort of disorientation and learning.
I like feeling like I’m spinning around and am not sure what to grab onto next.
I have faith that structure will ultimately emerge from the whirlwind.
Epilogue
“That’s when I really began to understand: the point of…disorienting work is to wake us up, break us out of our numb acceptance of what we see and force us to look harder at the world around us. It isn’t disorientation on its own that matters; it’s the re-orienting with a new, heightened sense of perception that makes the work transformative.” Scott Nadelson, Lost in the Woods: the Transformative Possibilities of Disorientation, in Fiction Writers Review, Oct. 5, 2020.
Looking back at the night I first visited Dali, I don’t remember too much about the actual dance after dining (no, not because of the sangria). However, that night made an impression on me. I returned to Dali again and again over the years for special life moments with family and friends. Influenced by my experience at Dali, after graduating from college I did a solo three-week trip to Spain to take in the culture, art, architecture, and food, and to walk a chunk of the Camino de Santiago. At some point, I convinced someone who answered the phone at Dali to give me their sangria recipe, and served it to great acclaim (and hangovers) at house parties during law school and at holiday parties in Texas. I even persuaded my uncertain Texan parents to brave the unfamiliar territory of Spanish cuisine, and they have since been known to travel to Boston just so my mom could eat the quail and white asparagus at Dali.
I could go on, of course, about subsequent journeys to Barcelona, Granada, and the Costa del Sol with my husband, spreading an interest in Spain to two of my sisters, and getting to speak in Madrid among Spanish friends much later as a crypto researcher. And about how trying Spanish food so happily contributed to my desire and courage to try sushi, then Korean bibimbap, then Vietnamese pho, then Indian curries, and more.
That spring night at Dali — with its sensory chaos and feelings of overwhelm, confusion, recognition, beauty, curiosity, delight, bombardment, and seduction — opened a door for me to a new way of seeing the world.
High hopes that my research will do the same. 🔦
P.S.: I haven’t visited Dali in a number of years now, but from what I can tell from afar, it’s still going strong. Feel free to take a virtual tour.
P.P.S.: I welcome discussion about anything that interests you from this post! If you have research suggestions, or ideas of other great restaurants or sensory experiences, I would love to hear them.
P.P.P.S.: My apologies for the lack of accents and tildes on the non-English words in the post. This is on my to-do list to figure out for future posts. For now, I’m embracing the ‘done is better than perfect’ mindset and publishing the post. :)